


The Return of the King

by Clea2011



Category: Damien (TV), Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bleak, Character Death, Gen, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 14:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6708217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clea2011/pseuds/Clea2011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin had been waiting for a thousand years for Arthur's return. But the man who finally came back wasn't Arthur. He was something else entirely.</p><p>Merlin/Damien crossover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Return of the King

**Author's Note:**

> Not betaed as only just got this finished before the deadline. Apologies for any errors, I will get it betaed asap.
> 
> Please note the warnings.
> 
> ****FIC CONTAINS SPOILERS IF YOU HAVEN'T YET WATCHED DAMIEN****

Merlin waited.

It had been a thousand years, but Merlin had never forgotten, never given up.  Arthur’s face haunted his days and coloured his dreams at night.  He could wait a thousand more, and he still wouldn’t stop.  And he would know when Arthur returned.  He was certain of it.

And so, one morning when Merlin was sitting out on the terrace of his home, reading the paper, it was a shock to find that he was mistaken. 

The paper had a magazine supplement short on news and full of glossy photos.  There was yet another war, in another country.  In Merlin’s long life there had been so many that all of them tended to blur into one.  People fought, people died, it was the way of things.  Merlin was almost completely sanitised to it. 

Some journalist had gone out there taking pictures.  Raw, brutal pictures.  The photographer had real talent for capturing suffering, but Merlin had seen too much of that first hand.  He skimmed over the pictures and went to turn the page.  And then he saw him.

It was Arthur, no question.  A tiny picture on the credits.  He was going by another name, but that was unimportant.  It was Arthur, reborn, come back to Merlin.  And by the looks of it, he’d been back for several decades without Merlin ever noticing.  Merlin tried to push back the hurt of that because he _should_ have known.  He really should.  But he hadn’t.

The pictures had been taken a few months earlier, Merlin found when he read the article.  They were up for some kind of award now.  Because taking pictures of someone else’s suffering would be worthy of a prize, apparently.  Still, they were thoughtful pictures, sympathetically shot.  Merlin gazed at them, trying to get some small hint of what Arthur would be like now.

He could never have imagined the truth.

\---

It was an easy enough matter to track Arthur down.  His agent was based in New York and Merlin simply walked into the building.  His magic did the rest.  A quick concealing spell and he slipped past the receptionist without being noticed.  Perhaps there was a good security on the computers but it all fell away as soon as Merlin got to work on one.  A few minutes and he had all the information he needed.

Damien Thorn was the name on the file but there was no doubt in Merlin’s mind that it was Arthur.  He’d even had a similarly tragic childhood, with both his parents dying when he was very young. Merlin felt a stab of guilt over that.  He should have found Arthur earlier, made sure he was brought up by people who cared for him.  Nobody cared for Arthur more than Merlin.

It was too late for any of that though.  There was the address of a flat, a mobile number and an email.  It was easy enough to go to the flat, and, as there was nobody home, just wait.  Merlin sat in the hallway outside Arthur’s door so that there was no chance of missing him when he arrived.

It wasn’t an overly long wait.  Three hours, after Merlin had waited centuries, was as nothing.  And then there were footsteps on the stairs and Arthur’s familiar, longed-for face came into view. 

“Arthur!” Merlin scrambled to his feet and rushed to meet his king.

Perhaps it wasn’t the best way to approach a total stranger, but Merlin was too excited and relieved that Arthur was back. Also he had assumed that Arthur would immediately know him.  He didn’t.

“What?  Who’re you?”

The American accent was hard to accept, but Merlin tried to ignore that.  He’d hoped that there would be no need for explanations.

“I’m Merlin.”

“Merlin.  Like the wizard Merlin.  Right.  Well, _Merlin_ I’ve dealt with enough insane people today.  I don’t need another one right outside my apartment.  So just fuck off back to whichever psycho ward you’ve escaped from, _Mer_ -lin, and leave me in peace.”

That wasn’t the reaction Merlin had hoped for.  “No,” he protested.  “You don’t understand.  Arthur, you’ve got to listen…”

“Arthur…” Arthur spoke his own name slowly, as if trying it on for size.  “Hmm… would that be King Arthur by any chance?  As in Excalibur and the round table and all that?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re Merlin… yeah, of course you are!”

“Yes!” Just for a moment Merlin let himself hope, but then realised Arthur was just being sarcastic. 

“Yes.  Okay… well the name’s Damien, not Arthur.  And you’re with _her_ , aren’t you? This is just another attempt to freak me out.  Well,” Arthur… no, _Damien_ grabbed Merlin by the front of his shirt and slammed him back against the wall.  “You can just go back under whichever rock you crawled out from.  You think this shit is getting to me?  You haven’t seen anything.  People like you, they have a habit of ending up dead.” Damien pushed Merlin back a second time, hard enough that Merlin’s head hit the wall.  “Don’t come back here again.  Got it?”

“But Arthur…”

“I’m _not_ Arthur!” Damien screamed at him.  “I’m not the devil, I’m not the son of Satan, and I’m not Jesus either!  I’m not any of the things you people claim.  Go!  You will _not_ like what happens to you if you stay around me.  Things happen to people... bad things!”

His grip was painful, and Merlin just nodded, recognising that this wasn’t the time but not trusting himself to say so because it would just make things worse.  Damien released him, and took a step back. 

“Stay away from me,” he warned again, unlocking the door to his flat but never taking his eyes off Merlin. 

Merlin didn’t move at first, even when the door closed.  He stood looking at it for a long, long time.  He’d waited so long, he couldn’t bear to give up so easily.  But Arthur, or Damien, had made his feelings very clear.  Eventually, temporarily defeated, Merlin walked away.

\---

Merlin didn’t give up, but he didn’t approach Arthur again.

He watched from a distance, careful not to get too close.

Perhaps it was a sort of stalking and he had no doubt Arthur… no, _Damien_ , would think so if he caught him at it.  But Merlin couldn’t stay away. 

Damien was right about the people around him and what happened to them.  It was as if the shadow of death followed him around.  Violent, horrible deaths.  Unexplained deaths.

Once, Merlin saw the body of a man whose face had been shredded.  The man had slipped up on a moving escalator and somehow his tie had got caught.  A sickening way to go.  When Merlin watched the CCTV footage later, it was clear that the man had been being chased by Damien.

That was just one of the brutal deaths.  There were more, and as the weeks passed they appeared to be happening more frequently.

And then Damien tried to kill himself.

Merlin had lost him, just briefly.  He’d expected his king to remain in the city, hadn’t expected a spontaneous trip to his childhood home.  He certainly hadn’t expected such a terrible action.  Arthur would never have tried that.  And there was no obvious reason that Merlin could see for it.  Damien was successful, wealthy, he’d inherited enough from his parents to ensure that he wanted for nothing.

Merlin stuck closer to him after that.  Others did too, he noticed.  There was a woman who never seemed to be far away from him for long.  Merlin often observed them talking, arguing.  Damien seemed to hate her, yet also seemed incapable of pushing her away completely.

And then, late one afternoon when Merlin had been watching Damien, trailing after him, he saw the dogs. 

Merlin had noticed them before, but this was different.  This time there was a man who had appeared to be threatening Damien in some way.  There had been an argument, both men taking an aggressive stance.  But Damien had appeared to be one who gave in, head bowed, walking away looking distraught at whatever the other man had said to him.  Damien was still likely to be unapproachable so Merlin went after the other man, needing to know what they’d been discussing.

The man walked fast and Merlin had to hurry to keep up.  There were too many people around and it was hard to get through them.  Twice Merlin almost lost him.  And then he turned a corner, into an alleyway.  Merlin followed, and was immediately met by a large black dog blocking the way, growling at him.

There was some kind of dark magic all around the dog, Merlin could sense it.  It had been a long time since he’d felt dark magic so strongly, but it was unmistakeable.  The dog tensed, ready to spring at him, but Merlin was faster.  He pushed it away with his magic, dismissing it easily.  The creature vanished, confirming Merlin’s concerns about its origins.

The man he’d been following was lying further down the alley and Merlin ran to his side.  He was dying, horrendous injuries all over his body.  It looked like bite marks, as if there had been other dogs.  Perhaps there had and Merlin hadn’t noticed them when he’d been confronted with the first, but it was too late for speculation.

Merlin crouched down, knowing there was nothing that he could do, even with his magic, but needing answers.  If there was trouble, those dogs could turn on Damien next.

“What happened?” Merlin asked gently.  “Who set those dogs on you?”

The man’s agonised gaze focused for a moment on Merlin’s face.

“The son of night,” he croaked.  “He walks among us.  Destroy him before it’s too late.  The time is almost nigh.”

“What?  The son of night?  Who’s that?  What do you mean?” Merlin demanded.  “Is Damien in danger?  What were you arguing with him about?  Tell me!”

But the man’s eyes glazed over again, and he spoke no more.

Merlin ran back down the street, heading in the direction he’d seen Damien going, fearing the worst.  But there was no bloodied body, no sign of any struggle.  No sign that Damien had ever been there at all.

Still, Merlin had to be sure.

He went back to Damien’s apartment, where he had been sent away so decisively many weeks before.

Perhaps things would be different.  Perhaps with the terrible deaths that seemed to happen all around him Damien would be more willing to listen to Merlin?  But it was a slim hope and Merlin tried not to cling to it too desperately.

The front door was open, which didn’t bode well.  But then security on apartment blocks was never that good, even fashionable converted warehouses or whatever Damien’s had once been.  Merlin couldn’t see the appeal, preferred somewhere warmer-looking, more homely.  But then, so many fashions had raced past him that they’d all lost their appeal.  These days he just dressed plainly, making sure he didn’t stand out but sticking to timeless outfits, jeans and t-shirts, things that meant he didn’t have to keep too close an eye on the constant changing trends and didn’t stand out.

Damien didn’t answer the door at first.  Merlin wondered if he should use magic and barge straight in, but that was only going to cause more anger.  He wanted to present himself as a friend, an ally against whatever was conspiring against Arthur in this life.  Perhaps Morgana was back too, and that was the reason for all the deaths?  But the dark-haired woman Merlin had seen with Damien bore no resemblance to his old nemesis, and there was no scent of magic about her, dark or otherwise.  Merlin hadn’t sensed magic on another human being for centuries.  Morgana’s return would almost have been a relief from the isolation.

He raised his hand to rap on the door again, not sure that the buzzer was working, and almost fell forward when the door suddenly opened.  Damien stood there, his expression settling into a glare as soon as he realised who his visitor was.

“You again.”

“Hi,” Merlin attempted a smile, but it wasn’t returned.

“I told you to stay away.”

“Yeah.  I thought I’d come by anyway.  Can I come in?”

Damien shrugged.  “Sure.  Why not, everyone else does.  At least you knocked.”  He stepped back, and let Merlin pass.

The interior of the apartment was as cold and soulless as the exterior.  Merlin glanced at it momentarily, but he only had eyes for Arthur.  So close, after so long.

“Arthur…”

If possible, the flinty glare hardened.  “That again.  I told you, I’m not who you think I am.  Maybe you should consider getting help.”

“You _are_ Arthur,” Merlin insisted.  “I’d know you anywhere.”

“You’d know me?  From… what, a thousand or so years ago?”

“Yes.”

Damien sighed.  “Okay, I’ve let you in, you’re still clearly insane.  Time to leave.”

He didn’t seem bothered by the supposed insanity, Merlin realised.  As if he’d already seen it all before.  There was fear in his eyes, but it didn’t seem to be aimed at Merlin.  There was something else.

“I know it sounds crazy…”

“Crazy?” Damien laughed.  “Listen, Merlin, if that’s really your name. After the past few months there’s nothing you could do or say that would sound any crazier than all the other shit I’ve encountered.  King Arthur?  That’s nothing.  But you know what?  There’s no way I’m him.”

“You don’t know…”

“Oh, I do.  Because King Arthur, he was good, right?  A hero.  A legend.  People loved him, they still love him.  Try going to England and visiting Glastonbury, you’ll see.”

Merlin knew Glastonbury like the back of his hand.  He’d lived there, waited there for centuries.  “I’ve been,” was all he said.

“Yeah, well there you go.  That’s not me.”

“Arthur…”

“ _Damien!_  My name’s Damien.  You’re stupid as well as crazy.  I’d give you my shrink’s number but she went mad too, gunned down by the police for murdering an old friend of mine a few weeks back.”

Merlin had heard about that.  So much death.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?  It’s me, I’m the bringer of death, apparently.”

“No…”

“Yes.  And that’s why I’m completely sure I’m not your Arthur, Merlin.  Because Arthur was on the side of the angels.  Now go, or I’ll throw you out.”

Merlin tried again, desperate.  “There are people being killed all around you, you need me to protect you.”

“Get out,” Damien warned.

“That man you were arguing with earlier, he’s dead.  Killed by dogs.”

For a moment Damien looked shocked, but then his expression hardened again.  “I said get out.  Don’t try my temper.  You wouldn’t like my temper.”

“Arthur…”

That was as far as Merlin got.  Damien grabbed hold of him and half-pushed, half-lifted him towards the door, opened it and shoved him out.

“Don’t come back,” Damien warned, and slammed the door in his face.

The furious, ugly, hate-filled expression on the features Merlin loved so much was unbearable.  He could feel the tears welling up as he turned away.

It was time to try something else.  And, briefly, he would have to abandon Arthur.

\---

Merlin hadn’t been back to the crystal cave for years.

At one time he’d been there constantly.  The pain of his loss had been fresh and raw, and he’d constantly needed the reassurance of his father’s spirit there to guide him. Balinor had kept him going through the darkest times. 

As the centuries passed, and magic faded from the world, the power of the cave had weakened.  Often Merlin had gone there and found nothing.  He’d had to use his own power to summon voices from the past, spirits that recalled the old religion.  It had grown harder with each passing year.

Eventually, despairing of Arthur ever returning, Merlin had all but given up.  But finding Damien had changed all that.  Merlin returned home on the first available flight and headed straight for the cave.  It had never been discovered and made into some gaudy tourist trap, largely due to Merlin long since having purchased the land on which it stood and using his magic to hide it.  He was the only one who ever ventured there, had been for centuries.

The cave never changed, no matter what happened in the world around it.  For a few moments Merlin savoured the quiet familiarity of it.  In a way it was like coming home, the only link he had back to his past life at Camelot. 

But there was no time to reminisce.  He stood in the chamber, and called to his father.  And, to his surprise, there was a reply.

“My son.”

It was Balinor, and there was another with him.  Some druid holy man from aeons back.  Merlin had seen him before, standing in the background of Balinor’s visits.  The man had never come close before, never spoken.  Yet now he was at Balinor’s side and the magic in the cave was stronger than Merlin could ever recall.

“Merlin,” the man said. 

“Who are you?” Merlin asked, not bothering with any pleasantries. 

The man was tall, with long grey hair tied back in a ponytail.  His robes were plain grey too, but then it was always hard to tell colours with the spirits of the cave.  Merlin’s father often looked monochrome. 

“I am Gwydyon.”

Merlin vaguely recalled the name, some warrior god of magic from times long past.  The fact that he had appeared now, with Arthur returned to the world, could not be coincidence.

“Your wait is over,” Gwydyon continued.  “The time is at hand.”

“The return of my king,” Merlin stated. 

“No.  This is not your king,” Gwydyon told him.  “This is not your Arthur, not as you knew him.  This is the son of night.”

Merlin recalled the words of the dying man in the alley.  “I’ve heard that before.”

“It is the darkness that you managed to turn away from Arthur in his first life.  It’s too late this time, you should have found him earlier.  Now he’s too far into his descent.”

“Descent?”

“Arthur is from the new religion, my son,” Balinor told him gently.  “He always was.  He falls between dark and light.  Your place is to guide him along the right track, away from the evil that wants to control him.”

“Arthur’s a good man!” Merlin protested.

“Yes, he was.  Because of you.  The two of you, the mix of the old religion and the new, that worked before.  But this time, it’s too late to turn him away from his path,” Balinor looked older and sadder than Merlin had ever seen him.  “I’m sorry.  If only you had found him earlier.”

“You must destroy him!” Gwydyon demanded.  “Only you can do this.”

“It’s Arthur, I can’t do that,” Merlin gasped.  “I _won’t_ do that.”

“It is not.  The abomination is not your Arthur.  See.” Gwydyon stepped back and all Merlin could see in the cave were horrific scenes of war and suffering.  So many people dying in agony before him.

“Arthur wouldn’t do this.”

“Arthur will cause this.  He is the spawn of darkness.  Already the seed has grown within him and he will choose the wrong path before you can return.”

“No!”

“Better to return to the old ways than to have evil rent the earth in two,” Gwydyon continued.  “Destroy him, and the old religion will rise up again.  We have waited.”

Merlin looked to Balinor despairingly.  “Father…”

“I’m sorry, Merlin.  His followers have already destroyed the daughter of light.  They moved too quickly and our powers are too weak to be of help.  Only you can destroy the son of darkness now.  Only you, Merlin.”

“But it’s Arthur…” Merlin breathed.  “He wouldn’t do that.”

In front of him he could see Damien, eyes blazing a fiery red, those dogs at his side, cutting through the death and destruction with a sword that looked like a warped version of Excalibur.  His head was held high, and he was walking over broken, dying people as if they weren’t there.  And he looked so much like Arthur…

“You need to believe, Merlin.  There isn’t much time left.  There have been attempts to kill the abomination but all have failed,” Balinor continued.

“He is of age.  The day is at hand,” Gwydyon asserted.  “There is only one blade that can end his life.”

Merlin knew what that would be, even before it appeared at his feet in a sudden blaze of light.  “Excalibur.”  He made no move to pick it up.  “I won’t kill Arthur.”

“You will not be killing Arthur.  This is not your Arthur, not as you knew him.  Think, what would your Arthur have wanted?  What would he want you to do?  Which side are you on?”

Merlin gazed down at the footage again. So much death.  Arthur would never have wanted this.  It was like Lancelot all over again.  But it couldn’t be true.

“I’m on Arthur’s side,” he whispered, picking up Excalibur.  “I’ll always be on Arthur’s side.” 

“There’s not much time,” Gwydyon warned.  “As he grows stronger, he’ll be harder to defeat.  You need to strike now.”

Merlin turned away without a word and left the cave.  He couldn’t kill Arthur.  And Damien was Arthur, he was sure of it.

\---

Things were very different when Merlin returned to New York.

He could feel the dark magic heavy in the air.  There had been problems on the flight on the way back, storms and turbulence that Merlin had needed to carry them through.  The plane would never have made it without Merlin’s assistance. 

All without so much as a cloud in the sky.

He’d brought Excalibur with him, placed a glamour over it that made it appear as if it were nothing more than a walking stick.  He took it through customs, never letting it out of his sight.  Nobody so much as glanced at it until he was in a taxi, heading towards Damien’s apartment once more.

The taxi driver was chatting away, happy to have a Brit in his cab, talking about British taxis, and the queen, and how he’d worked in London for a few months when he was younger.  Merlin let it wash over him, not really listening.

And then, suddenly, a huge truck was bearing down on them.  The cab driver swerved but there was no chance of avoiding it.  Merlin cast a spell fast, and the massive vehicle shuddered to a halt only millimetres from the taxi.  He looked up into the cab of the lorry, expecting to see the driver slumped over the wheel or in a state of panic.  But there was nobody behind the wheel.

The taxi driver didn’t even check Merlin was okay before he got out and immediately started a loud and animated argument with a policeman and two other drivers who had also nearly been hit.  Merlin, forgotten, climbed out of the cab on the other side, took Excalibur and his bag, and headed off on foot.

Halfway there, the dogs came at him again.  He flicked them away with his magic, trying to quell the rising feeling of fear in his chest.  It wasn’t true.  It couldn’t be true.

But the stench of dark magic was growing stronger the closer he got.  Excalibur felt heavy in his hand, and he knew it was the dark magic trying to push it away.  A weapon of purity was always going to be repugnant to its opposite.

A van came careering around the corner and mounted the pavement, almost hitting him.  Again Merlin pushed it away with his magic.  There was a driver this time, wild-eyed and panic-stricken, high on something, perhaps.  But Merlin knew when things were too much of a coincidence. 

Arthur had come back wrong.

With heavy heart, Merlin made his way into the now familiar apartment building.  The dark magic stench there was so strong he could hardly breathe.  And Excalibur was starting to pull away from him, drawn to the person it was created for. 

“It’s him,” Merlin whispered to it.  “I know it is.  There must be a way to reach him.”

“There is no way.  Your side is finished, we got there first.  You’re too late.”  The dark-haired older woman that Merlin had seen Damien with so many times was standing in the doorway of Damien’s apartment, blocking Merlin’s way.  He had hoped that perhaps the stink of dark magic was coming from her, or someone like her.  But it wasn’t.  It was within the apartment, moving past her, trying to push him away.

“Let me pass.”

She laughed, as if he’d said something particularly funny, though he couldn’t see what.  Perhaps she was just insane, driven that way by the dark magic that was hanging over everything, smothering them?  She wouldn’t even have realised it was happening to her.

It hadn’t been that way before.  Something had changed since Merlin had been away.  It had only been a few days, but everything was wrong in that apartment now.  Merlin raised Excalibur, intending cutting the woman down if he had to.  He’d done worse.

But she just stepped aside, still laughing at him.  

“Go.  See if he wants you now.”

Merlin pushed past her in his haste to get to Damien, to see what had happened to him, no time for insane women.  Arthur had been his reason for living for so long, he still could not conceive of the idea that the man could be anything other than his king.  This Damien still had to be his Arthur.  What Balinor and Gwydyon had said was wrong.  It had to be wrong.

“Arth… _Damien_?” Merlin called.  It was dark inside the apartment, hard to see anything.  And yet there were windows, and it was only early evening.  Outside it should be light.  The windows weren’t shuttered.  The room shouldn’t be dark.

“I warned you not to come back.”

It was still Arthur’s voice.  Different accent, and the tone was colder, but it was still Arthur.  Merlin clung to that thought.

“I’m here to help you,” Merlin insisted.  “Where are you?”

Something moved in the shadows in front of him.  One of the dogs, then another, both of them stopping in front of Merlin, standing to attention as if they were on guard duty.  And finally, Damien himself walked out of the darkness and faced Merlin.

His eyes were all Merlin could see.  No longer the beloved blue, they had darkened to the colour of blood. 

“What happened to you?” Merlin gasped.  “Your eyes…”

Damien stared back at him coldly, and any hope that Merlin might have had died at that moment.  It no longer looked like Arthur.  This was just something wearing his face, something that was all the things that his father claimed.  It wasn’t Arthur.  It would never be Arthur. 

“He has arisen,” the woman told him.  Merlin hadn’t even noticed her come up behind him. And for a moment he didn’t feel the knife sliding in through his ribs, razor sharp, slicing him open.  “Your time is over.”

Merlin cried out, but he’d been attacked so many times over the years that the stabbing barely slowed him down.  He swung round and cut the woman down where she stood, her face frozen forever in surprise.  Immediately he turned back to face Damien.

“You’re hurt,” Damien pointed out.  Merlin preferred the Damien that he’d met before.  That one had been on the edge of panic, trying to exude confidence but only giving out signs that he was afraid.  This one didn’t care.  This one was everything Balinor and Gwydyon had said he would be. This one was the beast.

“Arthur would care,” Merlin told him.  “About everyone, even servants.”

“I’m not Arthur.  But,” he glanced down at the fallen woman behind Merlin.  “I seem to be missing a servant.  You can kneel, walk on your knees, beg me for your life and I might not set my dogs on you.  Give me a reason to let you live.  That’s a fine sword.  Give it to me.”

The dark magic was all around Damien, emanating from him, reaching out to the world around him and then darting back.  It spun around Merlin, the pain from his now heavily-bleeding wound only making it worse.  He tried a healing spell but nothing happened.

“No, your magic doesn’t work here,” Damien told him.  “Ann stabbed you with one of the daggers of Megiddo.  You’ll bleed out and die.  There’s nothing you can do.”

Merlin could feel the magic of the knife burning through him.  Not the dark magic, something else.  A third way, one that disliked the old religion almost as much as Damien’s side did.  He could feel himself sinking to his knees, his strength starting to ebb away.  This was the end, and part of him was glad of it.  Perhaps he could sleep now?  But there was one last thing to do, because he couldn’t leave Arthur like that.

He raised Excalibur for the final time, swinging and thrusting as Arthur himself had once shown him.  Damien staggered forward, clutching his stomach where the blood was flowing free.  And it was as black as night.  He sank to his knees, facing Merlin, swaying, then leaning on him.  The red was fading from his eyes.

“Merlin,” he whispered. 

Shocked, Merlin gazed into pain-filled blue eyes, still so familiar and loved.  It was Arthur now, all Arthur.  Merlin’s stomach churned in horror, terrified he’d made a terrible mistaken.  He was light-headed with the blood loss and could barely stay upright any more.  But Arthur leaned into him, breathing heavily as their blood pooled together on the floor.  He spoke two final words, his voice little more than a sigh.  It was the last thing Merlin heard.

“Thank you.” 


End file.
